The brisk winds of a waning winter followed her heels as the young healer slipped past quaint vendors selling trinkets and coffee and roasted chestnuts outside her apartment building. London yawned awake lethargically on an early Sunday morning, but Tamsin knew that soon the nearby farmers' market would be bustling full of housewives and out-of-town visitors alike.

Which was why she, clever her, had endured the crisp morning to beat the queue to purchase some fresh pastries and scones for her sleeping guest.

Even if he would have rather she stayed in bed.

And judging by the bleak, monotonous grayish-white sky, so would she.

The witch wasted no time in climbing the stairs to her floor with the bag of pastries clutched close to her chest. She waved on her radio the moment she stepped through the front door, allowing a light stream of classical music to interrupt the otherwise quiet London apartment. Tamsin set down her bounty to fill the kettle and place it on the stove before she unwrapped the scarf from around her neck.

Scarf, coat, jumper, and pants were discarded in turn in a trail making its way to the bedroom as the blonde-haired woman weaselled herself back under the blanket, instinctively seeking out the nearest source of heat.

"Oh, you are so warm."

Last edited by Everevna on 17 Mar 2019, 19:14, edited 3 times in total.

"And you're so cold" Ciceron responded in kind, immediately wrapping his arms around the woman and dragging her further into the bed. He leaned down, flipping the blanket over her feet to ensure she was fully encased in the bedding, not wanting any warm air to escape without permission.

Life had been rather good, lately. He got to see Tamsin several times a week, often stayed for several nights, and enjoyed her company thoroughly. It was nice to have a woman around; it kept him grounded, and reminded him of how delicate life could be. More importantly, it was refreshing to be around someone that he was sure wasn't trying to use him for social gain. With his sudden momentum in the underworld's notoriety, it felt like a breath of fresh air to have Tamsin around, simply being without conditions.

He pulled her to his bare chest, inhaling deeply in an attempt to ingrain his mind with her scent, his finger tips tracing down her spine. She was utterly beautiful, and he had to remind himself every morning in moment like these that all was well, and he was not dreaming happy thoughts before a sudden demise. Although, if this is what death felt like, he was sure to welcome it when the time came. Without real thought, he skirted his hand under her shirt to feel her skin against his, revelling in it.

"It felt like you had gone for eternity. Those better be the best damn pastries in the world after you left me so, so alone." He muttered against her, closing his eyes to really sink deeper into her embrace.

Oh, but Tamsin knew she was cold. All the more reason why his body warmth was so terribly appealing to her as her lack thereof was not to him. Ciceron's griping merely illicited a somewhat deviant chuckle from his girlfriend as she settled into his arms. For a brief, tranquil moment, she seemed almost serene as she allowed the older male to fuss over the blanket, exercising a rare restraint from her ever-present urge to tease.

Though that did not last for long, naturally.

"Has the blanket not been sufficient company?" Tamsin offered innocently as she, too, burrowed herself closer into Ciceron's chest, surreptitiously gliding her frigid hands over his back and under the waistband of his underwear to procure the maximum amount of heat retention.

"I like to think it smells like me. I've drooled on it quite a bit. Do you smell it?"

Ciceron lifted a brow at her words, about to respond before her freezing cold hands - clearly plucked from the very depths of Antarctica - slid to a far more sensitive location. It caused his body to arch suddenly, a wheezing gasp sucking into his throat with the shock of the cold.

"Tammy!" He yelled, scrambling to grip her wrists and pull them back to where his skin seemed less sensitive to the temperature shifts. He pulled her arm up at the wrist, tipping her over onto her back so that he could lean over and give a faux stern look at her, attempting to hide the smirk. "Well, at least the blanket didn't ambush me like that. I bet you got a real giggle out of that, didn't you."

With that, he propped her other hand up, managing to manoeuvre both wrists under his metal grip before tapping her nose with his free index finger.

"I do much prefer the smell of you yourself. But do you know what I enjoy more?" He lifted a brow. He trailed his hand down her chest before reaching her stomach. And then began to smile, pressing his fingers into her ribs, not enough to hurt, but enough to start tickling her with no escape.

The younger of the pair softly gasped as she found herself suddenly flipped onto her back. Her smile remained radiantly triumphant as she gazed up at Ciceron, at least for one brief moment. Tamsin wriggled slightly in a piteous attempt to regain her freedom and autonomy, settling with a nonchalant resignation when she realised the futility of her efforts.

She might have stood a chance, were it not for his metal hand. The one which she had been trying to fix to very little avail. Perhaps it will always be as it was. The thought was an unpleasant one, but she was beginning to grow used to its cool touch.

It was not so bad, really, after the initial jolt.

"Ciceron!" A high-pitched yelp tore itself from her lips before she could even comprehend her predicament. The young woman dissolved into a thrashing pile of giggles as she kicked about her legs in an attempt to overpower the male.

"I sue for peace! I sue for peace! With pastries!"

It did not help that the kettle had began wailing nonsense in an effort to alert them of the boiling water.

Ciceron laughed, trying to avoid her thrashes, though found the attempt pitiful as her knee swung up and hit him squarely in the hip. With that, he released, beginning to feign a serious injury as he rolled over onto his back.

"I'm hit! You got me. I'll never walk again! You'll have to be my bedside carer for eternity as I live the rest of my life bed-ridden and useless to the world. What use is a handless and practically legless man!" He cried sarcastically, bringing a hand up to his forehead in a dramatic pose. "I can hear the screeches of the Grim approaching me now...he sounds almost just like a boiling kettle."

The triumphant warrior sprang up as she was released from captivity, energised and poised to strike. Unfortunately, any retaliation efforts were quickly aborted as she burst aloud in laughter at his antics. Even then, she wasted no pity for her partner and instead smacked him with one of the pillows between her peals of laughter.

"Have I been harbouring him in my apartment all this time?" Tamsin gasped in mock outrage. "How dare he not pay me rent!" Hair tousled and still bemused, she clambered out of bed, reaching for her night robe so that she may wrap it around herself for some (likely unnecessary) semblance of modesty.

"Come on, York. I doubt the no-good squatter is going to be making us breakfast tea."

The witch flicked her wand to extinguish the stove as she began making her way out into the kitchen and dining area.

Ciceron sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. Life felt good right now. Things felt so lighthearted and pleasant - thoughts of betrayal and family intrigue seemed to be lost upon him now. As much as he was loyal to the Ivers, it felt good to finally have a moment away from them, to have his life separated between business and pleasure. What a joy!

He dragged himself from the bed, pulling his own dark robe over his shoulders and padding barefoot toward the kitchenette. "I suggest we charge him double for being such an inconvenience." He spoke up, heading to the table and pulling a chair out for her before seating himself, leaning back lazily on the back of the chair.

Often, he would cook for her. But she had clearly supplied pastries, so why not just allow her to take the reins? It felt good after all.

"I could get used to this...in fact...I have been thinking lately." He started, a smirk on his face. "My house in Oxford is really too big for me, and I am apparently in line to take over the York Manor. Perhaps you would be willing to share it with me...permanently."

The kettle's verbal rumination dissipated amidst a stream of huffing and puffing as its barefooted owner busied with tea-brewing and setting out a breakfast spread. A snap of her fingers whipped open the diaphanous curtains to brighten her predominantly white-washed kitchen even if merely a tinge. "You're in charge of breaking the news to him," she instructed teasingly, back against Ciceron, hips gently swaying to the soft lull of Bartók as she portioned out the tea leaves into a cast iron teapot.

Her mouth curled into an absent-minded smile as she listened to Ciceron. She, too, could get used to this—this morning in all its serenity and ataraxy, this apartment that was too many square feet smaller than the home she grew up in but was entirely hers and hers alone, this time, this person.

Perhaps it was long past time that she introduced Ciceron to her family.

Perhaps it could wait a little longer. She wished it was a decision that came easily; but it wasn't. It was not his metal hand, nor an issue of his social standing—certainly not an issue of his social standing—, nor even because he may not be around for long.

She did not even want to think about that.

His following words, however, brought about a slip of her hand. Tamsin sucked a breath through her teeth and quickly set aside the kettle as she lurched backward a few inches before any more hot water could land on her.

Ciceron snapped his eyes up as she jumped back, his brows furrowing. He had known what had happened, but didn't know why. what caused her to slip? Simply being distracted by something? Or perhaps her hand was wet and she lost her grip. It was part of Ciceron's analytical behaviour to try and figure out the root cause of the incident. He almost started to stand, but seeing that she was okay...he didn't want to coddle her. She wasn't a child, after all.

"Perhaps next time you will aim a little better and get closer to throwing it at me." He joked, though brought out his wand and charmed a cloth to wipe up the hot water off the floor. He sat for a moment, silently, before looking back over to her.

"No!" Tamsin hastily exclaimed, distractedly brushing at the stains of water droplets on her robe. Her cheeks flushed when she realised how loud that had came out. "No," she repeated, leveller, reaching again to finish pouring hot water into the teapot.

But was it not a no? Did Tamsin want to move in with her boyfriend already?

Even before her family even knew of his existence. Though, that would not remain so for very much longer if she agreed to this, if she wanted this.

She did not know if she wanted this. It had came entirely unexpectedly, and she had never before foresaw that he would wish to share such significant portions of his life with her, to have her to move into his home. Had she merely been obtuse? Up until then, Tamsin and Ciceron had only ever slept over at each other's on occasion. They went out, and drank and danced, and spent hours back-to-back with their books whilst the radio spouted whatever music struck their fancy that day, and dated in the park. He told her he loved her, and she responded in kind, but never before was it would you like to share my life?

The thought did not make her unhappy, not utterly.

She turned eventually to face him, teapots and mugs floating their way to the table before him, and leaned her hips against the kitchen counter, fingers curling over the edge. The healer carefully hinged her front teeth over her bottom lip as she peered at her partner from underneath long, golden lashes.

The thought of disappointing him made her unhappy, at least in part.

"Will it be your home or your family home? What happened to your cousins? I thought they were in line before you."

"Why, does size really matter that much to you?" He smirked, amused by his own joke. Though in all seriousness, he could see the uncertainty on her face, and it only made him more conscious of the fact.

He couldn't even bring himself to pour any tea yet, his mind completely boggled. He hadn't exactly expected her to jump for joy and envelope her arms around him, but he also hadn't expected her to nearly drop a whole teapot of scalding water on herself. Surely she had thought about their future together, right? She must have done! He was practically the perfect man for her - not that he was bragging - but what more could she want? He was handsome, polite, wealthy, successful, ambitious, and intelligent. Not to mention witty and damn good in the bedroom...he had been told...

Even so, he sat back, scanning over her carefully as he answered.

"Hera has decided to give up the heirloom of the home; she would much rather live a quieter life in Wales. And Viola? She is much too head-over-heels for upperclass men. She's been fawning over that Gavin Iver for the past year and has all intentions of living with him, despite his hesitations. For the moment, she is located in Iver Hall for the unforeseeable future...unless you would like me to try and foresee it?" He blinked. "But if York Manor does not take your fancy, I do still have my country house in Oxford, if you prefer."

Tamsin knew little of the Yorks, only that they were wealthy and of older blood than hers. Once upon a time the older male had made certain she did not forget the fact, but times had changed and so had he. Even then, if she absolutely had to be honest, she did not think she could date someone whose pockets were empty. Of course, Ciceron did not have to be the heir to his family fortune; that part was a surprise.

Still, it did not hurt to know that her future prospects were somewhat secured if she so wished, if she only just nodded her head now.

The young woman found her mouth tipping into a light smirk in spite of herself.

"It's almost like winning the lottery. Either you... having your cousins so willingly relinquish their inheritance, or me, for landing a rich boyfriend who is about to get even richer. Should we be uncorking the champagne instead of pouring tea?"

It was not so simple, but perhaps she was overthinking this. They loved each other, did they not? And it was not as if he was asking her to marry him just yet. And she had to admit that the sound of being able to go home to him after a long day of work appealed to her very much. They would no longer have to send their owls back and forth in a dizzy just so they could make plans to see one another.

Ciceron couldn't help but smile a little, but the thoughts began to swirl in his head. He remained silent for a long moment, deciding not to continue her change in discourse as he began pouring tea. It had only been a passing thought prior to all of this, but now it was really starting to nag in the back of his brain. He couldn't bare it!

He had thought to suspend the moment further by taking a sip of tea and lingering his eyes on her, but it was becoming nauseating.

"You're avoiding the question." He spoke suddenly, starting to lean forward a little. "Tam, do you want to come live with me, yes or no? All you have to do is say the word and I can help you pack your stuff today, buy you an expensive gown, and fly us off for a celebratory five star dinner by noon, all in time to be back in our new home with a glass of brandy and the fire lit. Just say the word."

The sound of it both thrilled her and terrified her, which the witch tried with desperation not to show on her face as she met her boyfriend's eyes. She did not understand why it had to be such a dilemma. They had been seeing each other for months, had shared a bed and taken showers together.

Yet somehow, Tamsin was more comfortable being buck naked around Ciceron than she was with the prospect of sharing a home with him.

A home; not just a house. It would be more hers than the Villiers' homestead that she had grown up in, where hallways remained pin-drop silent despite housing six of them, for Circe forbade that someone slammed a door too hard and trigger another of Mother's migraines. Perhaps she could even participate in redecorating.

It was not so bad, she told herself, putting a slow smile on her lips as she moved closer to Ciceron, crouching before him and reaching for his hand.

"Yes," was her answer, surprising even herself with its deceptively steady and sure tone. Tamsin gently squeezed his hand as she met his eyes. "I would love to share your home. Our home." A pause later, "But not today. I have too much that would need to be moved, and I still have some reports to finish writing today for work. How about in two weeks? There is no rush, is there not?"

Her smile turned a touch mischievous as she added, "Though I could still make time for dinner. I do think a celebration is in order."